When One Wants to Start an Archives…

It has been mentioned a few times here already, but it bears repeating, I think: there’s a new group in the early stages of formation — the Philadelphia Alliance of DIY Libraries (PADIYL) — that aims to help small, independent libraries and archives join forces and share resources and know-how.

When one starts an archives, one might find that the summer months can be a slow time. It can be a hard time of year to maintain enthusiasm in volunteers and community members, and a hard time to meet all of the repository’s goals. It’s also a good time to think about which goals we really care to meet.

It’s tempting to judge success of a new community repository in terms of Facebook stats, retweets and blog posts. However, it’s important to remember that the majority of the hard work is often done behind the scenes: the cataloging, arranging, relationship-building.

When it comes to making decisions about what takes priority, keeping material safe and accessible ranks above starting new projects and social media. We don’t need to grow to survive. We’re not a business. Hold on to the material you’ve collected, maintain the accessibility of the collection, and be ready to start new projects when everyone settles down to work in the Fall.

Volumes from the library and archives world that set out to discuss the documentation of traditionally un- or under-documented communities tend to fall into one or more of the following traps:

Creating a straw-man version of “traditional” archives – against which the archive project in question (feminist, queer, racial/ethical minority, activist, etc.) is compared favorably

Uncritically claiming “archiving is activism” – without asking whether that means all archivists are activists

Having authors write about projects with which they are not involved – as though those involved cannot speak for themselves

Failing to offer any helpful advice for similar projects in the future – either from too much emphasis on theory, or simple generalizations.

Make Your Own History falls into all of these traps at least once.

This is not surprising, and much of this can be explained, and forgiven, by considering the difficulty involved in putting these volumes together. I hope that as the literature of activist collecting grows, these pitfalls will become increasingly less common.

What is surprising, however, is how out of sync the title of this book often seems from the content of the essays. For a book on the topic of documenting feminism, queer activism and the corresponding DIY ethic, it is surprisingly conservative. Whatever one might think when one hears the phrase “make your own history” most of the authors seem to mean something akin to “give your material to an established archive”. The volume would have benefited greatly by including essays by people working in community archives. The absence of these voices gives the distinct impression that non university-based collections do not deserve serious considerations.

The failure of Make Your Own History to take seriously alternative opportunities to collect and preserve feminist and queer history is exemplified in the following example:

Kathleen Hanna, a central figure in the history of riot girrrl and promoter of a strong DIY ethic, is quoted as saying: “Universities have more money than most left political groups and personally I don’t want lefty feminist groups spending their resources maintaining archives when they could be doing more important things” (p. 32). This is said by way of justifying the gift of her papers to NYU’s Fales Library. This statement is uncritically accepted by author. Preservation is an over-riding concern for donors, the author of the essay claims — and the assumption is that only established archives are up to this challenge.

Angela DiVeglia gives more credit to LGBT community archives in her essay “Accessibility, Accountability, and Activism: Models for LGBT Archives,” but still speaks from the point of view of established institutions. By way of investigating how established archives can better represent the LGBT community, she asks “What models can community archives offer, and what are the opportunities for cooperative relationships between formal and community archives?” (pp. 70-71). It’s refreshing to hear community archives taken seriously, but it’s disappointing that the investigation is from the point of view of “formal archives” — as though community archives are a curiosity to be studied and used as a resource. DiVeglia’s essay is impressive for it’s concern for reaching out to the community, I only wish it was from the outside looking in.

I feel similarly about an interview with Milo Miller from the Queer Archives Zine Project (QZAP), found in Jenna Brager and Jamie Sailor’s “Archiving the Underground”. QZAP is a project to scan zines and put them online to increase accessibility. This interview is certainly worth reading, and we’re lucky to have it reprinted here. We would have been luckier, I think, to have had an account of QZAP directly from Miller, or someone else involved in the project. Instead, the interview is a copy of zine pages where the interview was first published. It is disappointing to have the most interesting project treated within the wider scope of an essay concerning other matters.

Even within the restricted world of formal university-associated libraries, there is not much that has to do with making your own history. Many of the accounts of library collections that include feminist and/or queer history are simply short histories of how these collections came to be in the library. I fail to understand how this helps anyone who is wants to make their own history.

Despite these shortcomings, a hand-full of essays deserve recognition for moving the discussion of community documentation forward. The two essays under the header “Electronic Records” — Erin O’Meara’s “Perfecting the New Wave of Collecting,” and “No Documents, No History: Traditional Genres New Formats” by Amy Benson and Kathryn Jacob — deserve applause for offering concrete examples of documenting electronic records. O’Meara outlines specific steps taken at the University or Oregon’s Special Collections, including pre-custodial intervention (PCI), collecting strategies and working with groups of interest to establish a “digital archivist” in the field to facilitate transfer of electronic records as they are produced. Benson and Jacob report on projects at Harvard to capture, describe and present blogs and Websites. Descriptions of the system to capture, store, describe and promote the material is balanced with examples of outreach and debates about what to capture. This essay does a great job of offering an overview of the challenges and opportunities of collecting electronic records for the Women’s Archive.

Elizabeth Myers’ essay “The Jugging Act: Cooperative Collecting and Archival Allies” also deserves special recognition, I think. She offers a good deal of lessons learned in her role as head of the Women and Leadership Archives at Loyola Chicago. In addition to discussing important issues of relevancy, she recounts the example of community projects that brought in a great deal of attention and material, and warns of pitfalls that she encountered.

Alana Kumbier closes her impressive essay — “Inventing History: The Watermelon Women and Archive Activism” — by acknowledging what should have been stated at the beginning of Make Your Own History: “archives and counter-archives offer different kinds of sources and reminds us sources from different archives support distinct bodies of knowledge and hold multiple kinds of value (historic, sentimental, evidential) for researchers” (p. 102). There is more to document than can fit in university-related archives. And different bodies of knowledge benefit from different types of archives.

Make Your Own History has it’s ups and downs, and it’s biggest problem is the failure to treat community archives as serious alternatives to university-based collections. At it’s best, however, the volume offers insights into the challenging world of community collecting. As the literature on this difficult subject matures, it is my hope that the best continues to outnumber the others. This volume can rightfully take its place as a stepping stone along that path.

When one starts an archives, or even starts to read the literature on the topic, one finds the need to suffer through a lot of postmodern theory. Issues of subjectivity, identity, questions of power relations, and claims to “deconstructing” this and that appear on almost every page.

This blog has attempted a more pragmatic approach to the craft of community archives, and for a long time it’s been a lonely place to be.

But there is hope! The new edition of American Archivist (No. 75, Spring/Summer 2012) brings something I haven’t seen in a while: An article so good I had to tell someone about it.

Christine N. Paschild, in an article entitled “Community archives and the Limitations of Identity: Considering Discursive Impact on Material Needs,” argues that the postmodern vocabulary habitually used when discussing community archives serves to marginalize these collections, and distracts from the practical and important goal of fulling their mission. And, further, that this is quite ironic, because those who partake in the vocabulary consider themselves proponents of community archives.

She frames her discussion specifically around the Japanese American National Museum, but argues convincingly that her point is easily generalizable to all types community archives.

“The history,” she writes in the conclusion, that community archives collect,

just like the community of its origin, is not inherently separate from, independent of, or marginal to the broader history of the United States. Nor is it any more or less subjective than the history documented by any other collection in any other archives. This begs the question, then, if the conditional caveat of subjectivity is really necessary for the inclusion of community archives in the landscape of professional theory and practice. And, if a continued focus on identity and subjectivity is imperative to successful archival practice, when will it be applied with equal vigor to all archival endeavors?

By focusing on the subjectivity of archives and issues of identity when — and only when — talking about community archives keeps them at a distance, as though other collections are less subjective, or community archives are somehow different because of their focus.

Paschild’s article is a breath of fresh air in a field often chocked by needless jargon and ill-defined theory.

Want to show you take community archives seriously? Start an archives!

(And in the meantime, check out Paschild’s article, we’re lucky to have it.)

This could be a great opportunity for archivists around the country to get involved with important projects and make a real difference. We all believe archives are indispensable, a U.S. chapter of AwB can be our chance to prove it.

The ability to succinctly describe your archives cannot be overrated. The ability to reach out to other people — potential researchers, fellow archivists, community members — is often the only way to keep nascent collections going.

However important it is to talk about your archives — to distill months of work and hours of thoughts into a few short sentences — it is more important to be able to listen.

Listening about your archives involves hearing what researchers would like changed, what donors would like promised and what colleagues think you might be doing wrong — all of this is hard, and all of this is important. Of all the traps that new collections can fall into, self-isolation is one of the worst.

To stave off this isolation, seek out other people who are working on new collections. Ask them what they are doing, how they are doing it and why they are doing it that way. Be prepared to answer the same questions about your archives. Often it is by listening to questions that we learn to talk about our own projects.

There is much to be said about deciding on a track — policies, procedures, etc. — and sticking to it, but there is always more to learn. The ultimate goal of starting an archives is not to do everything perfectly the first time, but to ensure the material safety and usability of material for future generations.

As PADIYL — the Philadelphia Alliance of DIY Libraries — continues to work out our founding documents, we’ve been doing our best to find articulate attempts to explain the whats and whys of community collections.

There is reason to believe that SAADA (South Asian American Digital Archives) will be moving to Philly! If so, we consider this a great benefit for Philadelphia, and we hope to meet the team behind the Digital Archives soon.

Over the coming weeks we’ll be putting together the usual: Website, Facebook page, etc., as well as polishing our mission statement and by laws. If you’re interested in learning more and/or want to help out, let us know.

A lot of time and energy has recently been directed toward a project to bring together a number of small, independent libraries and archives into a consortium. The overall goal of this consortium will be to facilitate the creation and maintenance of DIY collections.

If this project is successful, the Start and Archives blog will likely to be relocated and integrated within the new organization’s blog posts.

When one wants to start an archives, one will often do so with no budget. Below are a couple things that have worked for me and some of the archives I’ve volunteered with.

Turning Repositories into Donors; aka: Ask Colleagues

Established repositories of all sorts periodically re-house collections. Many of these rehousing projects are based on the observation that boxes and folders take on acidity though the years and should be renewed. Ask for the old boxes and folders. Many of them are still in perfectly usable shape. While it helpful if you know someone in the repository, you can always send out calls for used materials to local archives groups.

Collecting something you fear a potential donor-repository might not care for? (Dear Catholic institution, can I have used folders for my Gay and Lesbian Collection?) Be vague. Most archivists will appreciate that small, volunteer organizations need supplies. Hopefully they’ll be relieved to find something useful to do with all the old boxes and folders and won’t ask too many collection-specific questions.

Turning Future Patrons into Financial Donors; aka: Ask a Friend

A lot of basic supplies can be purchased for a reasonable price, assuming no one person needs to pay for everything. Split your supplies list into specific items with listed prices and appeal to like-minded people to choose one or two items to purchase. Having an event? Now is a great time to remind people who support your archives that disaster planning requires a tarp, paper towels and a hair-dryer. Have a donation jar with a description of needed item and the price and ask that people supply money to specific causes. Or have a jar for unforeseen needs.

Short, pithy donation signs tend to work the best:

Like your local community archives? Help us buy a box for only seven dollars!

or

Help us survive our first disaster — Donate to our emergency relief fund. After all, it’s only a matter of time…

When one wants to start an archives, one will quickly realize that this is a joint effort, which requires more than just the people actively working with the collections. Cultivate relationships with future patrons — the people who constitute the community your collecting for — and with colleagues at established repositories. Everyone has a lot to learn from each other. And when it comes to finding basic supplies, these connections can be invaluable.